


Ask Me No Questions

by supernaturallylost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, More angst, and then another dose of angst on top of that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturallylost/pseuds/supernaturallylost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate for a case to get his mind off of his brother's affliction, Sam takes Castiel to investigate the disappearance of Alice Walison. Things become interesting when Alice's husband is found dead shortly afterwards. This is definitely 'their thing'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning of August

Dean hadn’t slept all night. He wiped at his eyes, as if to push away the insomnia. He threw his blankets on the floor next to him and pretended that there was someone else in the room with him. He tried to sleep sitting on the hotel lobby’s recliner, lying on the two room chairs pushed together, sprawling on the pool’s beach chairs, and even standing in the bathroom’s shower. Nothing helped ease his discomfort. An hour before dawn, Dean acknowledged the futility of his efforts.

With each blink stinging his eyes, Dean began to read the newspapers. He needed a job. Anything would work. He needed to hunt, to fight, to kill.

 

Miles away, a chill breeze slipped its tendrils in between the fence posts outside of a small suburban community. A woman meandering the sidewalk pulled her coat closer to her body, but the cold still invaded the blue wool. Dawn had not yet come, but there was a hint of a lighter blue sky spreading out at the horizon.

Alice shoved her hands into her pockets and bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. She walked another block before she noticed the hairs on the back of her neck sticking up. Stopping directly under a streetlamp, she heard the person before she saw him.

“All alone, sweetheart?” he called out drunkenly, smacking his lips together. His crooked gait merely unnerved her, but the grin on his face provoked nothing short of terror. He had a rough beard, a bowler hat, and a red bandana sticking out of his pocket.

Alice took a step back and felt a hand on her shoulder. She screamed.

“Do not be afraid,” whispered a softer voice in her ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

Before she could move, she saw a bright blue light and felt a wave of love and calm and relief wash over her. She blinked the light away, forced the mental imprint of wings from her eyes, and peeked through her unnatural calm into what could have happened if no one intervened. When she reopened her eyes to thank her savior, she saw only the empty street.

She turned about curiously as the wind picked up. She felt the cold wind force itself around her. Then the wind constricted, capturing her in a spiral of freezing pressure. She opened her mouth, and the powerful air forced its way into her lungs. Unable to move or breathe, she stood in the cold grip of air looking directly at a set of bright white teeth.

 

A couple of days later, Sam searched online for any new cases. In his single bed hotel room, he sat with coffee and a bran muffin. Not much time passed before he stopped chewing and frowned at the light of the computer screen.

He leaned forward. A woman with light brown hair, a group of children around her, and a blue wool coat was pictured below the words ‘missing person’. Sam read the description thoroughly twice before he picked up his cell phone.

 

Castiel heard a strange buzzing sound as he was sitting in the living room of 6703 Elm Drive, Florence, Oregon. Michael Walison, a short man with a gray-brown beard and sorrowful eyes sat across from him.

“Are you gonna get that?” the man asked, nodding pointedly at Cas’ pocket.

After a moment of narrow-eyed silence, Cas guessed which answer was most appropriate. “Yes.”

He reached into his pocket and grabbed the shaking phone. He touched a button, put the phone to his ear, and said, “Sam.”

 

“Hey Cas, where are you? I’ve got a case.”

“I’m in Mr. Walison’s living room having tea.”

“Michael Walison? Alice Walison’s husband?”

“Yes, she went missing a couple of days ago. I was just telling him that I’d met her just before she disappeared.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and said quietly, “You need to check in with me more often.”

After a minute, Sam sighed. “Be sure to ask about her personality type. Her missing person’s report online has an interesting description. I think this is our kind of thing.”

Cas nodded. After a moment, he asked, “Should we tell Dean?”

Sam winced. “No.”

 “Sam…” Cas frowned gently.

“No.”

When he closed the phone, Cas sighed, turned back to Michael, and said, “Mister Walison, do you know who Carl Jung is?”

 

Sam heard the click of Cas’ phone and zoomed in on the computer. In the picture, a sign behind one of the children’s heads was just barely legible. After a quick search, Sam wrote down the address of a special recreation center for underprivileged children. He put the rest of his muffin between his teeth and grabbed his coffee. The old ’67 impala was out of the hotel lot before another bite of the muffin was swallowed.

 

In the corner of his hotel room, Dean clutched his head with his hands. The curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and he had nowhere to go. He rocked back and forth as he sat. His mind alternated between three thoughts.

“Just go to sleep. It’s not so frickin’ hard.”

“You need a case. You need to hunt something. You need to feel that power again.”

“You’re not safe to be around. You’re poison.”

 

Sam reached the after-school program fairly quickly. When he walked inside, he followed a trail of vinyl kangaroo footprints up to the reception desk.

A lovely woman with very bright red hair greeted him with an easy smile. When he flashed his FBI badge, she sat up straighter, but didn’t lose her charm.

“How can I help you, Officer Stark?” she smiled.

“I’m investigating the disappearance of Alice Walison. I wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions?”

A shriek of excitement made it out of a room to the left. Several young voices singing nursery rhymes followed directly afterward.

“Of course,” nodded the receptionist, “but you’ll want to speak with Lindsay also. She worked very closely with Alice.”

While nodding, he reached into the inside pocket of his blue suit, pulled out a small moleskin notebook, and clicked his pen like he was loading a gun.

“Can you tell me anything about why Alice worked here, ma’am?”

“Well, she volunteered. Lindsay’s on our payroll, but Alice just came to help the kids. Rumor has it that she couldn’t have kids of her own, so she wanted to be involved with other children as much as possible.”

“Do you know if she had any full time job?”

“She was a librarian, I think, at the other end of town. She worked in the youth area of the library, so she often was able to bring worn out books here to fix up and share with the little kids. Actually, she brought in this box a couple days before the report was filed.”

The receptionist lifted the box into agent Stark’s reach.

“Did Alice ever express any desire to work somewhere else?” Sam asked, sorting through several large-print, vividly colorful books.

“No, of course not. She loved everything about this area, and she was so happy with her work.” A second’s hesitation interrupted her sentence. In that time, the children’s singing stopped and faint stomping echoed through the building. “I can’t imagine why she would be missing,” the receptionist whispered, “but I can guarantee that if she’s gone, it wasn’t her choice to go.”

“Do you know anyone that may have wanted her to leave?”

Sam wrote down the name she told him, thanked her for her time, and gave her his card.

“I don’t think I’ll need to talk to Lindsay after all,” he stated. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

On his way back out to the car, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and brushed the hair from his eyes. His phone in the passenger seat began to buzz.

 

Michael Walison got home late that evening. He habitually rolled up his sleeves to hide the cuffs. When he remembered that his wife was not home, he exhaled heavily.

Michael walked across the living room and turned on the television to some reality show. Beside the remote, he found his day planner open to next week. “Janice” was written on the Thursday and Friday columns.

“Who is she?” came a voice.

Michael startled, but sighed with relief when he realized that Maury was on. While the screams of betrayal intensified on the show, he was able to get into the kitchen to make dinner.

“Who is she, Michael?” he heard from the living room.

He laughed at the odds that the man’s name was Michael, too. That man was probably in a lot of trouble, he chuckled. He scooped one heaping spoonful of pasta into a bowl.

“Michael, who is Janice?”

Michael stopped grinning and walked with his pasta back to the living room. The television was turned off.

 

“Cas,” Sam answered the phone. He started the car and immediately began to drive. “I think Michael Walison killed his wife. We need to go find out how and why.”

“I know,” Cas answered. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

“Michael, who is Janice?”

The bowl of pasta shattered against the wood floor.

“A-a-a-alice? You’re here! I put out a missing person’s report for you. Thank god you’re alright!”

Michael reached out with both arms. Instead of hugging her husband, Alice dropped her blue wool coat and crossed her arms in front of her.

“Who is Janice?” she repeated.

Michael blinked several times before recognizing that the usual glint in her eyes was missing.

“She’s the woman that changed her mind about the adoption, remember? She was going to let us adopt her baby, but she chose another couple last minute. She’s due soon, so I’ve been meeting with her to see if she’d change her mind again. I know how much you want a child, dear.”

Michael scratched his elbow and bit his lip.

“I don’t like liars, Michael.” Alice tilted her head and blinked slowly.

“Well, honey, I’m not lying.”

“Michael, if you are lying, I will kill you.”

He laughed a breathy, uncomfortable laugh. “That threat would work a lot better if I hadn’t seen you swerve to avoid hitting a mouse, cry when a bird hit our living room window, or refuse to swat the mosquitoes on the fourth of July.”

Alice sighed and walked around the couch. Slowly, she reached out for his hand. He smiled righteously, leaning in for a kiss.

Violently, she pulled his sleeves down to reveal marks of light purple lipstick. Her eyes did not look up.

“You lied.” She stared at his sleeves.

“Alice, honey, I can explain.” Be rational, he thought to himself. She’s never won an argument.

“I have to kill you now.”

Michael pulled his hands out of hers and backed up slowly. His eyes scanned her body, trying to make sense of her posture. Alice never slouched, and she certainly never spoke about being violent.

“Alice, darling, you don’t understand. It’s not what it looks like.”

“If you had only told the truth,” Alice said, still looking down and shaking her head.

Michael stepped backwards again, and he recognized that for the first time in his marriage, his wife could not be persuaded. His eyes searched for the easiest escape route. She wouldn’t kill him, he knew, but she looked like she could use him out of the house for a while.

Alice felt cold steel pressed into the palm of her hand. It demanded to be used.

“You should know, Michael,” she spoke as tears rolled down her face, “I never cheated on you.”

 

Sam knocked on the door. “Michael?”

Cas frowned. “Something’s not right.”

Sam understood. Their two shadows against the front door were joined by the shape of a gun. Sam reached for the door handle.

The door opened silently. Cas peered around the shoulder of the hunter in front of him and saw a surprisingly dark hallway. Near the end of the hall, some noodles surrounded a shattered green bowl.

“Michael?” Sam said once more as he approached the entrance to the living room.

Cas observed everything – the wallpaper, the keys on the entrance table, the pictures in the hallway, and a stained copy of the missing person flier.

“Sam,” the angel whispered. “I don’t think that’s marinara sauce.”

‘A nic—in he--- ly thirties with bro-------- a love for the community and its youth.  
She --- ke of a stalker before sh-----peared. -----claimed he had black eyes---….’

One deep breath later, Sam whipped around the corner and stopped short. Cas followed quickly and saw two figures lying still on the floor. Cas’ shoulders fell and his tensed jaw relaxed.

“That’s Alice,” Sam said. After stowing his gun in his belt, he reached down and checked her wounds only to see she had none. His brow furrowed. “Suffocation? She’s been dead at least a day, probably more.”

Cas nodded, “So you don’t think Michael made it up? The stalker? Your hunch was right. Black eyes are definitely ‘our thing’.”

Sam took a deep breath and looked at the second body. “Did he describe her personality to you?”

“Calm, rational, and gentle.”

Cas pointed at the ground next to Michael’s body. Sam scooted over and grabbed the blade.

“Possession?”

Cas titled his head. “Why would a demon use its host for only one kill? Don’t they usually ‘run them dry’, as they say?”

“There’s no sulfur around,” Sam said, looking to make sure. “I don’t think this was a normal demonic possession.”

Cas walked slowly around the room, coming to a stop at an open book. He turned a few pages and then said, “Janice Silven.”

 

A different hotel room, a different town, but Dean still couldn’t sleep. He rocked back and forth in the dark again and again.

“You’re poison,” his mind told him.

“I’m tired,” his body told him. “Let me sleep.”

“Worthless grunt. That’s why Sammy dumped you in Nevada,” he told himself. “He has ambition, he has aspirations. What do you have? A gun and no mind of your own.”


	2. Daytime in Oregon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several people receive unexpected visitors, including Janice.

Knocking on the door of 23 Howl Street in Garibaldi, Oregon at dawn woke Penny from her first deep sleep in a long time. She glared at her reflection in the mirror and tied the pink silk belt of her robe as forcefully as she could.

“Someone better be dead or dying,” she grumbled.

 

Sam’s eyes glazed over while he was driving. His mind always wondered in the car, but never quite so deliberately. Beside him, Cas breathed slowly. From the passenger seat, he looked Sam up and down. The creases in his forehead, the tenseness of his shoulders, and the regret in his eyes made his thoughts clear. He was failing to ignore thoughts of Dean.

“Sam,” Cas said softly.

“No.” Definite.

“Are you sure we did the right thing?” Frail, persistent.

“He needs time away until we can fix him,” Sam said.

“Sam, he might be better now.” Tenderly, lightly.

“No. He’s dangerous.” Firm, too certain, unyielding.

“He wouldn’t harm us.” Faithful, desperate.

Cas sighed and said, “I have to speak with Peter’s mother. I’ll meet you when you get to Janice’s house.”

Sam turned the radio louder and drove, alone in the impala with only his worst thoughts to accompany him.

 

12 Maywood Drive in Baker, Oregon sat calmer than it had in months. Somewhere in Idaho, a family was enjoying their new adopted baby girl. Meanwhile, a vague sadness commanded the attention of the birth mother.

She sat on the couch, her curly black hair loose and dirty. Janice turned on the television to a comedy show that could take her mind off of everything. On her table were pamphlets on post-partum depression and a newspaper with Alice’s face on it, and a caption that she’d read several times over.

_‘Woman suffocated, found dead in her house. Husband’s blood found at the scene of the crime. Police suspect a struggle. Husband is now lead suspect. Police have established a hotline for any leads or details concerning Michael Walison.’_

The actual article described the ordeal in great detail, and all Janice could think was that she’d made the best choice for her baby.

“Jack, why don’t you try sitting on this chair? I’m sure the children didn’t superglue the seat again.”

The applause of a live tv show audience followed shortly after.

“You promised me.”

The audience laughed even louder at the man who was glued to his chair. Janice sighed and changed the channel. Then her eyes glazed over in a sudden overwhelming sadness. The remote fell from her hand and she could barely find the strength to blink. Even when she heard a voice call her name, she could not even muster a cry of surprise.

“Janice, you promised me.”

 

“No,” Penny said. “No, that can’t be right.”

The policeman smiled sorrowfully. “Ma’am, I understand your grief, but I have to ask you a few questions before I can leave. Just routine procedure, of course.”

“Now doesn’t really seem the right time,” she snapped. “My son is dead!”

The policeman tugged at his blue tie and took a deep breath.

“Mrs. Andrews, I appreciate how hard this must be for you, but I have to do my job. You understand, don’t you?”

“Do you have children, officer Schwach?”

He tugged at his tie again. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Do you have anyone you love? Someone you thought could do no wrong?”

The policeman sighed. “I do.”

“If you heard that they were dead, their eyes literally burned out of them, their brain turned to soup… if you heard that they had tried to do something so horrible that you can’t even imagine… would you take the time to care about a policeman’s job? I have a son to mourn.”

“Yet you denied our offer to return his body to you?”

Penny leaned forward, grabbed the officer’s hand, and stared into his blue eyes.

“Officer,” she began.

“Castiel, please. You can call me Castiel.”

“Castiel, my son was a good boy. He got into drugs in college, then he had to deal with his father passing. For all that he’s been through, though, I would never have suspected that he could assault anyone. Now you tell me that not only did he assault five women and two men, but he also killed a whole family of innocents.”

Cas’ shoulders fell, and he peered back into Penny’s eyes.

“Castiel, he was dead long before he drew his last breath. I don’t know the body you showed me, but it certainly doesn’t belong to my son.”

She reached into her robe pocket and opened her wallet to a picture of a small boy on a middle-aged man’s shoulders, both smiling the same toothy smile.

“This is the boy I know,” she said, pointing at the child. “This is my Peter.”

 

Despite her increased heartrate, Janice turned her head very slowly.

“Michael?”

If her sudden sadness were a fire, the sight before her was a flood. Depression left her mind as instinct took over.

Michael Walison, her lover of eight years, the father of the daughter she’d given away, stood in front of her covered in blood.

“Oh my god, Michael,” she gasped, “were you _stabbed_?”

“You promised to let me raise my child with my wife. Did you ever mean it?”

Janice stood up and gaped. Michael stood, flesh and blood, in her living room with at least nine open stab wounds. He wore the same clothes he’d left in two nights ago.

“Michael, what happened to you? The paper said you killed Alice. Is it true?”

He stepped forward and turned off her television.

“Answer me, Janice,” he demanded, “and tell the truth.”

“Michael, do you need to go to the hospital?”

He stared sarcastically at her. Amazing, she thought, that a stare could be sarcastic.

Janice bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yes, Michael,” she finally answered, “I did intend to give her to you. I said so when we met two days ago, didn’t I?”

Michael looked down at the coffee table and picked up an envelope. He pulled out the letter, which was clearly already read over several times.

“June 8th,” Michael read. “Dearest Janice, I cannot thank you enough for the blessing you are giving my husband and me. We will, of course, continue to provide financial support for the rest of your pregnancy, and then some additional funds for your recovery afterward. Please find enclosed this month’s payment. Thank you dearly for your gift. Hope you are well, Ella Stevanik.”

Janice held up her hands in front of her.

“I can explain that, Michael,” she said with a nod.

“You lied,” he answered, still staring at the letter.

“No, you don’t understand. I did intend to give your daughter to you anyway.”

“You should have told me the truth, Janice.”

Janice shivered in terror. He had already killed his wife, hadn’t he?

“Please, Michael, let me explain it to you,” she pleaded. Her hands shook in front of her.

He shook his head as he felt a cold steel blade in his hand.

“I want you to know, Janice,” he whispered tearfully, “I didn’t kill my wife.”

Janice took a deep breath of relief.

Michael looked up, his eyes locking with hers. “My wife killed me.”

 

Sam stepped out of the car and onto something squishy.

“That’s my foot,” he heard from a familiar raspy voice.

“Cas,” Sam relaxed. “How did it go with Peter’s mom?”

“The way she spoke about Peter seemed genuine. I think there may be more to his story.”

“You killed him, though, right?”

“When he was going after Alice,” Cas nodded.

 “Then there isn’t much we can do about him. Besides, we’re here.”

Sam nodded at a neat white house with bright green front door.

“You have your badge on you?” Sam asked. Cas, however, was already approaching the house with a very confused expression.

“Sam, I’m sensing something.” Cas took a deep breath and tilted his head to the wind.

‘Are your spidy-senses tingling again?’ The unsaid comment hung conspicuously in the air between them, the air where Dean would be. Sam forced his sad smile away and walked up to Cas.

“What is it?”

“There’s something here that I noticed at Michael’s house. I couldn’t place it before, but I think I know now what we’re dealing with.”

“Wait, whatever it is, it’s already here?”

 

Cas charged into the house with Sam close on his heel. They both stopped short, however, at the sight of Michael Walison, still with his open stab wounds, lying on the floor beside a steel blade.

Sam turned to Cas and blinked.

“What we’re dealing with,” he asked slowly, “steals dead bodies as its host?”

Before Cas could answer, they both heard a grunt from the other side of the couch. In a swift motion, Sam had his gun out and was facing a woman with very curly black hair.

“What happened?” she said groggily.

Cas and Sam shared a look.

“Janice?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes closed. She stood and stretched. As she did, Cas clearly saw her eight stab wounds.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked suspiciously.

“Sure,” she answered hazily. “Michael just came in here and went crazy. He said something about lying to him and then…”

Cas’ hand was checking her pulse before she finished her sentence. She continued to speak, however, about her history with Michael and Alice, and her disappointment that Michael wouldn’t hear her offer to split the money with him.

While she spoke, Cas looked up at Sam over Janice’s shoulder and shook his head. No pulse.

“I have to go, though,” Janice said.

“Where?”

“I need to confront someone about a lie they once told me.”

Sam raised his gun to her. “I can’t let you leave here.”

Janice stepped back, but Cas’ hands grabbed her arms and held her firmly.

“What are you doing?” she panicked. “Please, you can have my money, my jewelry, my house.”

“Janice, you’re dead,” Sam said. “Dead things would be better off if they stayed dead.”

“No!” she screamed. “I’m alive, and I have to see Penny!”

“Sam, wait!” Cas shouted. He moved in front of Janice and stared into her cold eyes. They were watery with emotion and fear, but there was no life in them. “Penny Anderson?”

“Yes,” she nodded fervently. “Penny was my girlfriend until Michael came along. She introduced us.”

Cas slowly released Janice’s arms. “We’re going with you,” he stated.

“Cas,” Sam began.

“She’ll take her own car. We’ll follow behind.” Cas turned to Janice. “You need to change your clothes first.”


	3. Garibaldi, Oregon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas bring Janice to Penny's house, and Cas believes he knows what's been causing all of this chaos. Meanwhile, Dean follows a dream to where he thinks he'll find a final answer to the Mark of Cain.

Dean leaned into the receiver.

“What are you saying?”

Static interfered with the Cas’ sentence, but Dean could piece it together.

“You killed people, Dean. If you want to stop, you’ll have to die. Meet me at 786 Pekoe Court, Florence, Oregon.”

Dean had just set down the phone when his real body jolted awake. He pulled his hand to his forehead and wiped away the sweat.

“Cas,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

“Cas,” Sam grunted, “are you sure about this?”

“It’s a ghost,” he answered. Cas looked at his tie in the rear view mirror and tugged at it. No matter how many times he pulled and positioned and fidgeted with it, it was always crooked. “We’re dealing with a ghost.”

Sam’s brow furrowed.

“Ghosts don’t usually possess people,” he said.

“No, they don’t. But do you remember the ghost of Doctor Ellicott?”

Sam leaned back, grabbed the steering wheel firmly, and nodded. “He told you about that?”

“Dean did, yes.” Cas peered at Sam and waited for him to draw the proper conclusion.

“Doctor Ellicott was a ghost who was driving people insane at the old Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Do you remember what it felt like?” Cas asked quietly. “You were still yourself, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam grimaced. “The ghost did something that made my anger feel unbearable. It was horrifying, but I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean. I was the one making the choice.”

Cas nodded. “Something is feeding the fire of people’s doubts. Alice killed Michael because she suspected he was unfaithful.”

“And Michael,” Sam continued, “killed Janice because he was suspicious of the whole adoption business.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed.

“But, when Doctor Ellicott messed with me, I was still alive. Janice is dead, but she’s still walking. How is that possible?”

“Maybe it gets stronger the more it kills,” Cas suggested, eyes narrowed.

“Strong enough to keep a mind alive even though the body is dead?”

 

Dean boarded the bus and immediately went to the last seat in the back. With a full day of travel ahead of him, all he could do was hope that his dream meant something.

 

Penny heard a knock on the door around three o’clock. She set down the picture of Peter beside a handgun and walked to the door.

“Janice,” she gasped. She looked to the left and the right. She recognized the man in the tie right away. “Officer Schwach?”

“Penny,” Janice said passionately. “I need the truth from you.”

Penny looked back at the two men in front of her with confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Penny synched her robe even tighter and pulled her hair behind her ear.

Janice shoved past her and said, “Do you remember when we were drunk that night in senior year of college? You said you were good to drive, remember?”

Though Penny followed immediately after her, Sam and Cas waited.

“Cas,” Sam whispered, “we have to take care of Janice before she kills Penny.”

“Penny will be okay if she tells the truth. The ghost feeds on doubt. Janice will be fine if she is told the truth. Lies are what make her dangerous.”

“Cas, humans don’t tell the truth.” Sam reached for his gun.

“You sound like Dean,”Cas said without emotion.

They heard Penny and Janice move into the kitchen. Sam walked in with his gun behind his back. Cas, on the other hand, waited at the doorstep. Beside the open screen door were bronze house numbers glimmering in the sunshine. Reflected in the bronze were cars passing on the street.

 

Dean grabbed a newspaper from the floor and squinted to read it thought the blur of drowsiness.

“Grave of Oregon newlyweds,” it read, “is visited on the second anniversary of their suicides. Katie Hearth and Garret White each committed suicide two years ago today. Police closed the investigation six months ago, when they discovered a note in Garret’s belongings describing his relationship with Katie. Evidence shows that both Katie and Garret were cheating on each other with two other people (not to be named). Garret’s suicide note describes the couple’s suspicions of infidelity to their relationship and their agreement to accept death as their punishment for their lies. Mourners have come to their graves for the past two years with their own secrets. One mourner said, ‘I feel that Garret and Katie would appreciate being told the truth by so many people. I think it’s part of their legacy.’ Psychologists disagree. While none would comment for the paper, there was a consensus among them that the suicides were caused by mental instability, which should not be romanticized as it has been.”

Dean frowned and unfolded the newspaper further to use it as a blanket.

 

“Penny, did you kill the little boy that night?”

Cas walked into the kitchen in time to see Sam grab Janice’s arm. Penny shook her head, but said nothing.

“Answer me, out loud,” Janice demanded. “Tell me the truth.”

“No,” Penny denied hurriedly, her head shaking faster. “No, I didn’t kill that little boy.”

Sam held Janice’s arm cautiously, but his captive did not move.

“Penny,” she groaned. “You should have told me the truth.”

A steel blade found its way into Janice’s free hand. She shook her head sorrowfully.

“Janice, I didn’t kill him, I swear!” Penny said. She held her hands in front of her.

Janice reached down, still in Sam’s clutches, and opened the bottommost drawer beside the pantry. From it, she retrieved a bent license plate and a bike light. Penny stared, wide eyed.

“I want you to know,” Janice said darkly, staring at the license plate in her hands, “that your son didn’t die in an accident, unlike the boy you hit.”

Janice lurched forward, but was pulled back by the strength of Sam’s grasp.

 

Dean rustled in his sleep.

 

“Penny, go!” Cas shouted. “Get outside!”

Sam pulled the trigger on his gun, but Janice continued to pull. Castiel walked forward urgently, smartly, knowingly. He reached out and touched Janice’s head.

She continued to shout and pull away from Sam.

Cas stepped back and looked up at Sam. Quickly, he reached into the pantry and grabbed a container of salt. He threw it on Janice.

Small dots of salt scattered off of her and onto the white tile floor, but Janice continued screaming curses at Penny.

Suddenly, Janice’s head threw backwards into Sam’s. He toppled over against the opposite counter, knocking into a stack of clean dishes.

“Penny!” Janice screamed.

Cas moved in front of Janice and reached out to stop her. Before he touched her, however, he felt the sting of a blade in his gut. He inhaled sharply, falling against a bar stool.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “That’s not an angel blade.”

Janice didn’t even look at him. She just ran up the stairs, where she knew Penny would be.

 

Dean turned over in his sleep again.

 

Sam rushed up the stairs as soon as he could see clearly. Cas simply sat in a shocked silence as blood poured from his gut.

“Penny! Janice!” Sam called.

From downstairs, Cas could only hear a scream that was followed by two large thumping noises.

“Sam?” he called out, coughing.

 

Dean woke with a start. The bus announced arrival in Salem, Oregon. They would arrive in Florence just as the sun went down.

 

“Penny’s dead,” Sam reported as he helped Cas stand. “They’re both lying up there. Penny should be active any minute now.”

Cas winced. “This ghost… It’s a disease. It’s contracted through killing. Every victim becomes the murderer.”

“Yeah, so the question is, who will Penny go after?”

Sam inspected Cas’ wound closely. When Cas’ shoulders tensed and his breathing paused, Sam reached over and used a dish towel to apply pressure.

“Can’t you just heal this?” Sam asked.

He got no answer.

“Cas?” Sam looked into wide blue eyes. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

Cas reached into his pocket and retrieved a red bandana.

“What is that?” Sam asked. He followed Cas’ eyes as they moved to the picture on the counter. The little boy, Peter, was on the shoulders of a tall man wearing a red bandana.

“I think I’m next,” Cas said.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave comments!
> 
> [The title is the first part of the saying: ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.]


End file.
